carriers transferring in, the space around it became even tighter. Admiral Nelson had his ships arrayed in perfect order. His sixty-eight ships patrolled well-defined routes. Battleships and carriers patrolled larger zones. Frigates and cruisers stirred in smaller circles. The blockade formed a nearly perfect net.
Nelson was that rare officer who comes off cocky, smart, and competent. I did not appreciate the logic of his tactics until Captain Villanueva explained the blockade.
“I don’t see any holes. How about you?” I asked.
Villanueva looked at the displays, and said, “Here. This one is probably the biggest.” He pointed to a spot near the top of the planet, circumscribing the vulnerable area with his finger.
“Think you could squeeze a ship through there unnoticed?” I asked.
“Not a big ship,” said Villanueva. “Maybe a frigate. I could slip a whole squadron of Piper Bandits through that hole unnoticed if they were cloaked.”
“So he did a good job blockading the planet?” I asked.
“Textbook,” Villanueva said.
“If the Unifieds attack, do you think we’ll be able to fight them off?” I asked.
“Depends what they send.”
I nodded, taking a certain satisfaction from the feeling of being prepared.
“How about your Marines?” Villanueva asked. “Can you hold out if you need to?”
“It depends what they send,” I said.
Villanueva laughed.
The Olympus Kri broadcast station floated 230,000 miles above the planet. We kept the blockade well clear of the station. The last thing we needed was for our patrolling ships to stumble into a broadcast zone and end up in the Cygnus Arm.
“What if they go after the broadcast station?” I asked.
“He has two carriers and three battleships watching it,” Villanueva said.
“Is that enough to keep it safe?” I asked.
He gave me a wicked smiled. I interrupted him before he could answer. “I know, it depends on what they —”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Villanueva said. “The way Nelson has his blockade set up, he can shift fifteen ships to any spot at any time. It’s a thing of beauty.
“See these ships over here? They can shift over to the broadcast station in under a minute.” He pointed to a battleship, three dreadnaughts, and a couple of cruisers. “I never liked Nelson, but the bastard knows his tactics.”
We had all the pieces in place, but I still worried. If Freeman knew how many ships we had patrolling the area, who else knew? What other secrets did Freeman know? I wanted to trust Freeman. I wanted to think of him as a friend; but Ray Freeman did not have friends.
“You look worried,” Villanueva said.
“I am,” I admitted.
“The blockade is solid,” he said, no doubt trying to reassure me.
Thinking there must be a flaw, I took another look at the plans. I saw nothing. We still had time to make changes. If Freeman had his facts right, the Unifieds would come in another day and a half.
The plan was for me to meet Freeman on Olympus Kri. I went to my billet, packed a small knife and a flechette-firing pistol, and left for the landing bay. Sergeant Nobles met me at the door and told me he had requisitioned a new ship for me. He smiled like a boy with a new bicycle as he said this. He rubbed his hands together, and he had more spring in his step.
We entered the bay, and there it sat.
“A shuttle?” I asked. “Where the hell did you find a specking shuttle?”
Compared to the boxy transports around it, the shuttle looked sleek and modern. Transports had tiny wings that looked more like stubs. Shuttles had broad graceful wings.
“All of the admirals have them,” Nobles said. “I put in a requisition while you were at the summit.”
We entered the shuttle. It had a living-room-like main cabin, which included couches, chairs, and a wet bar. Aft, there would be a small office complete with sleeping accommodations.
“You bucking for a promotion, Sergeant?” I asked.
“No, sir,” he said. The man was always so damn cheerful.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I said. “Anyone who can pull off a coup like this belongs in the officers’ corps.”
He did not know if I was joking and looked at me, hoping to find a sign one way or the other. “I’ll put in your paperwork when this business is over, Lieutenant.”
“Are you serious about that, sir?” he asked.
“Just don’t start angling for captain, or we’re going to have a problem,” I said. “I hate wasting a perfectly good enlisted man by giving him bars.”
So the always cheerful Christian Nobles made his way to the cockpit a happy new officer. I sat in the cabin, still troubled. As we taxied through the atmospheric locks, I looked around my luxurious new digs. This bird was made for officers with entourages, Cabot would have felt at home.
I did not even notice when we took off, we moved so smoothly. Our entry into the atmosphere went the same way. Military transports entered most atmospheres like a hammer battering a nail. They rumbled and they shook, their fuselages audibly rattling as they pounded their way in from space. Not this shuttle. It sliced into the pocket like a sharpened scalpel cutting through skin.
I pivoted my armchair so that I could look out a window. It was nighttime on this side of Olympus Kri, the clouds below us were so thick that they blocked out the city lights below as we flew through. For a moment, the world outside my windows was all mist and cotton, then sheets of water streaked the glass, and I saw Odessa below me, a million million tiny amber-colored lights forming patterns that arranged themselves into streets and neighborhoods and tall buildings and riverside docks.
Odessa, capital of Olympus Kri, had survived the Avatari invasion pretty much intact. During the darkest days of the war, with the aliens closing in on Earth, the Unified Authority all but ceded Olympus Kri to the aliens. Without an army to defend it, the planet fell quickly; and because no one put up much of a fight, the Avatari ignored the people. They dug their mine, filled it with gas, and moved on to New Copenhagen.
“We’re coming in for a landing, sir,” Nobles radioed from the cockpit.
Looking out of the rain-coated window, I saw the sprawling lights of the spaceport. Runways stretched more than a mile in five different directions, their blue lights forming a pentagonal constellation.
We touched down smoothly, then taxied toward the multifaceted glass castle that served as Odessa’s air terminal. Once we stopped taxiing, the shuttle’s pneumatic struts compacted until the fuselage was only a few inches from the ground.
A car waited for me on the runway. I trotted the few feet to the car and was surprised to see who waited inside.
“Admiral Cabot,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be on St. Augustine?”
“Not much left for me to do over there,” he said.
The clouds were so thick that I could not see stars in the sky. The rain fluctuated somewhere between drizzle and mist, forming a film on my skin and uniform.
I patted beads of water off my shoulders and stepped into the car.
“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.
“Colonel Hollingsworth sent me your itinerary, sir,” Cabot said.
“General Hollingsworth,” I said.
“Warshaw made him a general?” Cabot said.
I nodded, not sure if I should tell him how many stars came with the promotion. I changed the subject. “I’m here looking for a civilian named Ray Freeman. Heard of him?”
“He’s waiting for you at Camp Marshall.” Camp Marshall was the largest military base in Odessa. It had been an Army base; but, the Enlisted Man’s Empire did not have an Army, so it now housed Marines.
“Are you sure he’s there?” I asked.
“He’s a hard man to miss,” Cabot said.
I watched the surroundings out the window as we drove through the city. We crossed a suspension bridge,
